


The One Where Things Aren’t So Literal

by mcgarrygirl78



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Southern men 101, Prentiss, practically every one has a nickname.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Things Aren’t So Literal

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to [_And_ _the Bad Dreams Lead Me to Calling You_](http://community.livejournal.com/lairofthemuses/22236.html#cutid1), which is the sequel to _[The One Where Hotch is in Pajamas](http://community.livejournal.com/lairofthemuses/19674.html#cutid1)_. This is getting to be a long three day weekend. Kate, this one is for you. Spoilers for Namesless, Faceless and Reckoner.

“Ooh, ooh, yeah, oh yeah that’s what I'm talking about! Yes! Yes! C'mon, c'mon baby, don’t slow down on me now. That’s it, baby, that’s it. Ooh, ooh, yes, yes, YES! Woo-hoo! Woo!”

 

Emily jumped up from the couch and started to dance like a football player in the end zone. She ended her celebration with the Captain Morgan stance then shook her hips once more for good measure. Hotch couldn’t help but laugh. He laughed until his belly ached and tears creased in his eyes.

 

“In your face, Hotchner!” She pointed at him and did another little dance.

 

“Oh my God, that was fuckin great.” Mid laugh, Hotch covered his mouth.

 

“Oh no, don’t you cover her mouth.” Emily laughed, gently pulling his hand away. “A girl needs a good fuck once in a while. Wait, shit…I think that came out wrong.”

 

“Did it?” Hotch still held on to her hand.

 

“It did!” Emily exclaimed, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I swear it did.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Shut up.” She used her free hand to slap his chest. 

 

Falling back on the couch, their giggles subsided. Hotch sighed.

 

“Do you wanna play another game?” he asked. He was resetting the Playstation 2 for another round of Indy 500 2K8.

  
“Yeah, but…”

 

“What?”

 

“I'm hungry. Are you hungry?”

 

“I could eat.” Hotch nodded.

 

“So are we ordering out or eating in?” Emily asked.

 

“My stepfather made his famous seafood Alfredo and sent me some a couple of days ago. Its penne with shrimp and lobster in a mixture of marinara and creamy parmesan Alfredo. I still have some.”

 

“Oh my God, that sounds like a food-gasm.”

 

“A what?” Hotch raised his eyebrow. It wasn’t lost on him that he was still holding her hand. They were also sitting very close on the slightly comfortable couch. He had to find a way to let her go without it being awkward. Hotch was sure no one did awkward as well as he and Prentiss. They’d practically turned it into an art form.

 

“Garcia told me all about food-gasms. It’s an orgasm caused by food, not literally of course. Don’t act as if you’ve never had one.”

 

Hotch looked at her and Emily was grinning. She went to stand; he took the opportunity to let go of her hand.

 

“I’ll heat up the pasta.” She said.

 

“You're technically a guest here, Prentiss. I can heat up the pasta. I don’t like the idea of you waiting on me hand and foot. You don’t have to do that.”

 

“I don’t like it either. I wasn’t…I don’t know what I was doing.”

 

“You sit and relax; I’ll get us some dinner.”

 

“Why don’t you tell me about your stepfather.” Emily sat back down on the couch. Holy moly, she couldn’t wait to get back in her bed. Thankfully she was not there for comfort because that couch failed miserably. Earlier that afternoon, she slept for nearly four hours in Hotch’s bed. Emily felt like Goldilocks…it was fantastic. She hardly wanted to get up but this weekend was not about sleeping much. Of course her sleep was helped along by the pillows and sheets smelling just like Aaron Hotchner. Damn that man smelled good. It was like being in his embrace; no wonder she didn’t want to get up.

 

“What about him?” Hotch asked, tinkering around in the kitchen. He took a deep breath and tried to figure out the course of the conversation. Spending a long weekend together meant they would probably discuss more than being FBI agents. Hotch would do his best to go with the flow, answer some questions, and not answer others. He didn’t necessarily want to keep Emily on the other side of a closed door. It just wasn’t as simple as that…nothing ever was.

 

“I don't know; how tall is he?”

 

“6’2””

 

“What color is his hair?” She asked.

 

“Silver.” Hotch replied.

 

“So tell me about him, Hotch. Preston is his last name, right? I think I remember you mentioning something about him being a judge.”

 

“He’s a Senior District Judge for the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia.”

 

“Do they really need to use the word district that many times?” Emily asked.

 

“I doubt it.” Hotch laughed a bit. “Tug handles civil trials; he’s been lauded for his work with corporate corruption cases. Since President Clinton appointed him in 1996 he’s gotten quite a reputation as a trust buster.”

 

“Tug?”

 

He looked up and she was in the kitchen with him. She looked comfortable in her jeans and his tee shirt. He’d offered it for her nap earlier and Emily still had it on. Hotch wondered if it smelled like her now. He wondered if his sheets now smelled like the two of them combined. Shaking the thought from his head, he watched her go into the fridge to grab a bottle of juice. When Emily returned to the living room, Hotch let go of the breath he was holding. That room was too small for the both of them.

 

“Southern men 101, Prentiss, practically every one has a nickname.”

 

“What's yours?” She asked.

 

“I said practically every one.” He replied.

 

“Uh huh, right. If you have one, Aaron Hotchner, I'm gonna find out what it is.”

 

“How do you figure?”

 

“I'm a damn good profiler. Plus, I'm a woman and there is nothing and no one on Earth more thorough than a determined woman.”

 

“God, that sounds like something mama would say.” Hotch cleared his throat as his Southern accent slipped out.

 

“Are you close to your parents?”

 

“I don’t see them as much as I should, which is something my mother never fails to remind me about. They live in Richmond and that’s just a two hour drive from DC. Work keeps us all so busy, you know. Anyway, I'm on Mama’s list right now…she's not fond of a 24 hour protective detail. It can be invasive.”

 

“Your parents have been threatened?” Emily asked.

 

“No, it’s just a precaution. Tug’s position as a federal judge made getting a team easier.” Hotch came into the living room with bowls. He again joined Emily on the couch. “They will stay under protection until Foyet is caught.”

 

“I'm so sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize; just dig in before it gets cold. I don’t want a pity party to ruin a potential food-gasm.”

 

Emily smiled, spearing penne and seafood onto her fork. She brought it halfway to her mouth, thought about it, and put it down.

 

“I'm not apologizing because I feel sorry for you. I just need to say that. I don’t pity you; I just hate what you're going through. Hotch, you were doing your job and some maniac set his mind on revenge. I guess the scariest part is that none of us ever knows when we could be in the exact same position. I don’t pity you; I empathize. Despite it all you’re handling this very well.”

 

“I don’t know about very well.” Hotch’s response was deadpan. He didn’t want to talk about Foyet. He didn’t want to talk about the fear that his loved ones, all of them, would be cut into tiny pieces and shipped back to him. He didn’t want to talk about the feeling that he could, and eventually would, kill George Foyet with his bare hands. Hotch didn’t want to focus on those feelings; they scared the hell out of him. They scared him even more than the things he felt for Emily and couldn’t even put into words. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

 

Emily nodded, doing as he asked. They had a great afternoon together. It was turning into a nice evening and she didn’t want to ruin that. The reason she sat in his living room right now sucked. That didn’t mean she couldn’t make something special out of the opportunity. Emily didn’t like the way that sounded in her head but she knew what she meant. “Oh my God, Hotch,” She leaned her head back on the couch. “Oh my God, mmm,”

 

“It’s terrific, isn’t it?” he asked, dimples poking into his cheeks as he smiled.

 

“It’s better than that, it’s…mmm,”

 

Hotch watched her empty her bowl and was happy to give her seconds. As usual, Tug made enough for a small battalion. He had no idea where she was storing it. Emily Prentiss loved to eat but her body hardly had an ounce of fat. It was lean, strong, and shapely. It was definitely shapely. Even in his oversized Duke Law tee shirt that was obvious. 

 

“How was your food-gasm?” he asked, cleaning up their meal.

 

“It’s definitely been a while but I recognize a good one when I have it.”

 

“No doubt.”

 

“Please let me help clean up or something. I don’t want to feel as if you're waiting on me.”

 

“If you want to feel helpful, go over to the liquor table and open the top drawer. There might be something in there that interests you.”

 

“Ooh, like what?” Emily practically jumped over the arm of the couch, rushing over to the table. She pulled the drawer open and saw the blue book with the yellow handwriting.  _Precious Memories_. “Oh my God, is this what I think it is?”

 

“I thought you'd be interested in seeing my family.” Hotch replied.

 

Emily was mesmerized by what she held in her hands. As she slowly opened it, listened to the spine crack, she knew the door to Aaron Hotchner was opening just a bit. Emily didn’t know if she’d see much of what was inside but she was so hopeful.

 

“How about a cigarette and then a trip down memory lane?”

 

“I don’t smoke.” Hotch walked back into the room. He was wiping his hands on a dish towel.

 

“I'm known to indulge once in a while.” Emily said.

 

“Ziganov Cherry Vanilla or Vanilla Mint, usually once a day. Sometimes two if the case is difficult. You’ve had them imported from Belgium but they’re Russian. The government recently banned cloves you know.”

 

“I know that. I want to know how you know all of that, about me.”

 

“I'm observant.” Hotch replied.

 

“I'm not sure anyone is that observant.” Emily said.

 

“When something intrigues me, I am.”

 

She didn’t respond; Emily just nodded. She reached into her bag under the coffee table.

 

“C'mon, lets go outside.” She said. “It was a great afternoon, surely turning into a great evening. Let’s see if the stars are coming out.”

 

“Have you ever been stargazing?” Hotch asked. He was over at the alarm, typing in the code to deactivate.

 

“No.”

 

“I know a great place; off the beaten path. Maybe…”

 

Hotch didn’t finish and Prentiss didn’t press. The last thing she wanted was for things to get awkward. She would be there for another day and a half. The whole team knew Hotch wasn’t going to take well to being watched over. They would have to find a better way to monitor him and keep him safe without his feeling suffocated.

 

“Something heavy is on your mind.”

 

The sound of Hotch’s voice brought her out of the safety of her thoughts. Emily took a deep inhale of her clove and smiled.

 

“No,” she shook her head. “I'm tired of heavy thoughts. I don’t want anymore heavy thoughts. How many three day weekends do we actually get, Hotch? Can we find some way to enjoy this? I promise on Tuesday I won't drag my feet back to the real world but for the next…” Emily looked at her watch. “48 hours…the next 48 hours I'm going to truly appreciate that I'm not drowning in crime scenes and victim statements. Let’s not think about the reason I'm here, just that I am. Does that sound good?”

 

“That sounds wonderful. I just don’t know if I can.” Hotch replied.

 

“Don’t worry,” Prentiss took the last puff of her clove, stubbed it out, and took Hotch’s hand. “I'm an excellent cruise director.”

 

“I don’t even doubt it.” He whispered.

 

Even though they went back into his apartment and locked themselves in, Hotch did his best to let go. It wasn’t going to change anything about his current situation but a little hope for the future could never be a bad thing. He watched Emily sit on his couch and slowly turn the pages of his photo album.

 

“OK, you're not allowed to laugh at any of my haircuts or outfits.” Hotch said, sitting beside her.

 

“All bets are off for bowl cuts and butterfly collars.”

 

“I can live with that.” He nodded. “Just remember when you get the giggles that someday I could be looking at these pictures of you, Agent Prentiss.”

 

“Yeah, someday.” She quickly glanced at him before going back to the photo album. “I think I might have much more embarrassing photos than this.”

 

“We’ll see about that.” Hotch leaned back, smiled when Emily leaned back with him, and he let go. He didn’t know how long it would last but he would take even a few moments of peace. Especially if he could spend them with Emily Prentiss.

 

***

                                                                                                                                


End file.
